Sometimes, I feel too much. It's one of the reasons I'm a writer. I need the release of the words onto a page, to distill my thoughts into stories. It's why I've always worked in jobs where my relationships and words can help people.

Adulting can be heavy. There is so much hurt in the world, so much responsibility, that need to keep jumping over the next hurdle as if we are race horses or machines, when really, we are fallible. We make mistakes. Our bodies ache. Our schedules get too full.

We forget that progress, health and happiness are never linear. There are blips along the way.

If we look up long enough, or take a breath, or pause, life is full of magic.

Soft hands on your face. A flower blooming after a long winter. A person who recognises how hard you work, who stops to really see you, or give you a hug or bring you a drink. Coming unstuck when you were ready to give up. Stories with happy endings. The stars. Green fields. Your hair rippling in the wind. An unexpected chuckle.

I'm grateful for every second. Life and learning, friends and family, passions and yes, struggles, are a gift. 

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